


Employee of the Month

by nihilBliss



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Background Relationships, Background Slash, Bulges and Nooks (Homestuck), Ceiling Gamzee is watching you masturbate, Coitus Interruptus, Explicit Sexual Content, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas, Minor Gamzee Makara/Tavros Nitram, Porn Shop, Porn Watching, Quadrant Confusion, Quadrant Vacillation, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Shop, Sexual Frustration, Sexual Humor, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 19:56:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20141122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nihilBliss/pseuds/nihilBliss
Summary: Dave is on a business trip, and Karkat is having trouble getting off on his own. So he makes his way down to his favorite sex shop for a little help. But little does he know, he's about to see a familiar face: Gamzee Makara.What happens next? Mutha Fuckin' Shenanigans.More humor than porn, but there's an explicit masturbation scene in there.





	Employee of the Month

**Author's Note:**

  * For [purpleWhimsies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpleWhimsies/gifts).

> Prompt:  
Gamzee works in a sex shop, like thats it. He works in a sex shop and some others go to the shop to buy stuff not knowing he works there. Shenanigans, sex shop shenanigans.  
Tagged for Gamzee, Karkat, Sollux, Tavros.

Sometimes the need went away on its own, and sometimes it didn’t. That was the trouble Karkat had when Dave was on a business trip. Normally, Dave’s needs kept Karkat’s modest sexual appetites more than sated. But with no husband, Karkat was stuck masturbating. But for all his ranting about it, he could never jerk off to satisfaction when his thinkpan got stuck in thought loops, which happened almost every time he didn’t have either his husband or some particularly filthy pornography to focus on.

Tonight, the greatest hits reel driving him away from his much-needed orgasm featured all of his various failures and shortcomings as a husband, including but not limited to the incident at the wedding, his tantrum when the hotel canceled their reservation on their fifth anniversary, all the little chores he left to Dave, and all the little ways he felt like he wasn’t enough, despite how frequently he felt and had been told the opposite.

“FUCKING GOD DAMMIT,” he howled as his bulge retracted into his sheath once more, picky little bastard that it was.

“FINE. FINE! YOU WANT SOME PERVERTED QUADRANT-SMEARING PORN? WANT THE STUFF WE DON’T WANT DAVE TO FIND IN THE BROWSER HISTORY ON OUR COMPUTER? FINE!”

Karkat had some very particular kinks involving quadrant vacillation, the kind that it was hard to explain to anyone who hadn’t written academic articles on Alternian romance and taboos. Esoteric was the word, and specific, and it was hard to find on the open internet. Besides, he’d lost too many hours trying and failing to explain it to Dave. If his sloppy searching showed up in their browser history, Dave would try to help, which would only start the futile crusade for understanding again. That was an inevitable tantrum/argument Karkat had no interest in repeating, please and thank you.

So Karkat hopped into the “bitchin’ ‘maro” Dave had insisted on alchemitizing and hit the road, globes aching deep in his core. There was, on the outskirts of the predominantly troll suburb they lived in, stood a seedy sex shop that, despite the internet’s omnipresence, still offered single-occupancy “theaters” where someone could rent a bucket flick and drain their autoerogenous shame globes at any hour. There, among other places, they hosted licensed selections from the library of Alternian pornography that Sollux had managed to download, archive and monetize over the last few sweeps.

“FUCKING SOLLUX,” Karkat grumbled as he locked the candy-red muscle car. He was alone in the parking lot, staring at the grubby neon “bucket hut” sign as the sun rose over the horizon. The sooner he got this done, the sooner he could get home and get some sleep, he told himself. So with a deep breath, he pulled the glass door open and stepped into the sleazy world within.

“HeY bUdDy, HoW’s It MoThErFuCkInG bEeN?”

Oh no. Karkat froze, pump biscuit lodged firmly in his throat. Behind the counter, customary pajamas under a plain apron, stood Gamzee Makara.

“WHAT IN THE BLISTERING FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE? WHY ARE YOU BEHIND THE COUNTER? WHAT IN THE NAME OF MY LAST SHIT IS GOING ON?”

“SeTtLe DoWn, HoMiE,” Gamzee said, lethargic. “A mOtHeRfUcKeR iS aLlOwEd To HoLd DoWn A jOb, AiN’t He?”

He tapped the little plastic badge on his chest. In all-too-neat text, it indeed read Gamzee. Karkat stared at it, then at Gamzee, then at the nametag again.

“BULLSHIT.”

“NaH, bRoThEr, It’S mOtHeRfUcKiNg ReAl AnD mOtHeRfUcKiNg WoNdErFuL.”

“NO. I REFUSE TO ACCEPT THIS AS REALITY. IT’S NOT HAPPENING. I CRASHED DAVE’S ‘MARO AND AM SLOWLY BLEEDING OUT ON THE PAVEMENT PITIFULLY UNABLE TO SATIATE MY RAGING LUST AT HOME. GREAT. MY TASTE IN BUCKET FLICKS HAS KILLED ME. AND MY PUNISHMENT IS TO HALLUCINATE A GRUBBY PAILING SHOP STAFFED BY GAMZEE FUCKMOTHERING MAKARA AS I DIE. AT LEAST HE’S BACK ON THE SOPOR AND NOT ABOUT TO BEAT ME TO DEATH OR SOME OTHER IRONIC REFERENCE TO SHIT WE DID AS TEENAGERS.”

“NaH, bUdDy, YoU’rE jUsT fInE,” he says. “WhAt KiNdA fLiCk YoU lOoKiNg FoR? wE gOt MoThErFuCkInG eVeRyThInG.”

Karkat, red-faced and raging, said nothing. He walked to the shelf that held his prize, took it in hand, and stomped up to the counter. He slapped the empty box down with exact change atop and stared daggers at the vacant clown.

“So My BrOtHeR fRoM aNoThEr BaTcH oF sLuRrY iS mAkInG uSe Of ThE sPaNk TaNk, HuH?” Gamzee said. “WoUlD a MoThErFuCkEr LiKe To PuRcHaSe A cOnCuPiScEnT aId To HeLp HiM aLoNg?”

“FUCK YOU.”

“ThAt WoUlD bE a MoThErFuCkInG sErIoUs ViOlAtIoN oF cOmPaNy PoLiCy, HoMiE. bEsIdEs, YoU kNoW i GoT mY tAsTy FuCkIn’ PeAnUt BuTtEr BaBe BaCk HoMe TaKiNg Up My FlUsHeD qUaDrAnT. i’M nOt RiSkInG wHaT i GoT wItH tHaT mOtHeRfUcKeR, aNd It DiSaPpOiNtS tHiS mOtHeRfUcKeR tHaT yOu’D aSk,” Gamzee said.

“GO FUCK YOURSELF GAMZEE. THE DAY I WANT YOU ANYWHERE NEAR MY CROTCH WITHOUT AT LEAST HALF A DOZEN LAYERS OF KEVLAR AND AN ARMED FUCKING GUARD IN BETWEEN IS THE DAY THAT THE STRIDER VIRUS HAS EATEN ENOUGH HOLES IN MY THINKPAN TO MAKE IT LOOK LIKE SWISS CHEESE. GIVE ME MY GODDAMN TOKENS AND LET ME DEBASE MYSELF IN SOME SEMBLANCE OF PEACE,” Karkat said. Gamzee laughed, then ducked below the counter and produced a small handful of brassy coins and a disc with a sharpie label.

“I’m JuSt PlAyInG wItH yOu, BuDdY,” he said. “We HaVeN’t HuNg OuT aNd RaPpEd In WaY tOo LoNg. YoU sOuNd PeNt Up LiKe FuCkInG cRaZy, ThOuGh, AnD yOu NeEd To MaKe A lItTlE mIrAcLe AlL uP iN yOuR bOdY tO gEt AlL tHaT bAcKuP oUt AnD lEt ThE gOoD tImEs FlOw.”

Gamzee set them on the counter and pushed them across, smile somewhere between lascivious and stoned. Karkat ignored it, snatching his prize. He strolled through racks of pocket nooks and crank-powered artificial bulges - all cheap, rubbery things that would turn petri dish in half a sweep, he was irked to note - and over to the grubby white metal of the stalls. They looked all too much like a public load gaper in a gas station, inside or out, but they got the job done. Sitting on the cushioned chair - half vinyl, half duck tape at this point - Karkat plunked his tokens into the slot in the wall, locked the door and slid the disc into the player.

The screen clicked on as Karkat slid his pants around his ankles, showing a familiar title card of Sollux’s own design - it wasn’t stealing if the universe didn’t exist anymore, or so Sollux claimed. Whatever. With a sigh, Karkat ran his fingers up the folds of his nook and felt the tension in his shoulders start to dissolve. He locked eyes on the screen, ready to sink into the warm embrace of what was essentially a pornographic rom-com.

Then, the screen froze. Nothing moved; nothing changed. Karkat clenched every muscle in his body with fury. Then, he heard the knocking at the door.

“HeY tHeRe, My NiNjA, i DoNe YoU dIrTy AnD dIdN’t RuN yOu ThRoUgH tHe MoThErFuCkInG tErMs Of UsE,” said Gamzee.

“I AM GOING TO STRANGLE YOU WITH SUCH FURY THAT HUMANS STOP CALLING MASTURBATION ’CHOKING THE CHICKEN’ AND START CALLING IT ‘CHOKING THE CLOWN.’ YOU’RE CUTTING INTO TIME I PAID FOR YOU ROTTEN SACK OF LUSUS CUM,” said Karkat.

“NaH, bRo, I hIt PaUsE fOr YoU. tHiS wAs My BaD. wOuLd Be WiCkEd UnCoOl Of Me To MaKe YoU pAy MoNeY bEcAuSe I dIdN’t HaVe My ShIt ToGeThEr,” said Gamzee. He slipped a sheet of paper and pen under the door, some kind of waiver.

“FINE, WHATEVER,” said Karkat, signing it and shoving it back under the door.

“So YoU aLrEaDy GoT yOuR bUcKeT sEt Up?” asked Gamzee. “DiDn’T sEe YoU bRiNg OnE iN wItH yOu.”

Karkat glared at the door, willing himself to keep his hands at his sides, rather than split his knuckles against the metal.

“WHY. THE FUCK. WOULD I HAVE A BUCKET?!”

Gamzee whistled, long and low.

“WeLl UnLeSs YoU hAvE sOmE kInD oF mIrAcLe PlAnNeD, yOu’Re GoNnA hAvE tO pAy ThE cLeAnUp FeE, aNd ThAt MoThErFuCkEr Is HeFtY,” he said. “UnLeSs YoU’rE dOwN wItH a $100 sPaNkIn’ SeSsIoN.”

Karkat made a noise not unlike a crow cawing in harmony with the failing starter motor of a 1982 Chevy Blazer that spent the last decade choked with sand. This policy was new since he’d last visited these shame cubicles.

"THEN GIVE ME A GODDAMN BUCKET AND LEAVE ME IN PEACE BEFORE MY BULGE POPS AND GIVES YOU AN EVEN BIGGER MESS TO CLEAN UP THAT I WON’T BE ABLE TO PAY YOU TO CLEAN ON ACCOUNT OF HOW MY BULGE LITERALLY EXPLODED AND I DIED OF BLOOD LOSS!”

Gamzee audibly shuffled away from the door. Karkat stared up at the still screen, trying to get his breathing under control. It wasn’t even on a sexy part yet. Fucking Gamzee.

“AlRiGhT, hErE yOu Go, GoOd BuDdY,” Gamzee said. He slid a brand new bucket under the door, along with a hastily scribbled invoice. Karkat snatched the scrap of paper up and read it.

“WHY. IN THE HOLY FUCK. ARE YOU CHARGING ME $10 BUCKS. TO BORROW A BUCKET,” said Karkat. Every phrase was punctuated with an enraged inhale. Karkat crumpled the invoice in his hand and ground his knuckles against his temples.  
“NaW, bUd, ThAt’D bE iLlEgAl. BoRrOwInG bUcKeTs Is CrAzY uNsAnItArY, aNd My BoSs SaId We’D bE lIaBlE fOr A mOtHeRfUcKiNg ToN oF dAmAgEs If SoMeOnE gOt SiCk,” said Gamzee. “BuT i GoT yOu CoVeReD. tHaT’s ThE cHeApEsT bUcKeT wE oFfEr. LeT’s GeT yOu PaId Up So I aIn’T cAuGhT lEtTiNg A cUsToMeR tAkE uNpUrChAsEd MeRcHaNdIsE iNtO tHe SpAnK tAnKs.”

Gamzee stuck his hand under the stall door and grasped as if he expected to find something. Karkat fought back the temptation to spread his legs and take an aggressive piss all over the offending palm. It was hard, but he managed to slap a tenner down before his will to defile won out.

“KEEP THE CHANGE AND DON’T BOTHER ME UNTIL I’M DONE YOU FUCKING CREEP,” said Karkat. “THERE HAD BETTER NOT BE SOME SOCIOPATHIC CLAUSE ABOUT HOW YOU CAN WATCH ME OR RECORD ME OR WHATEVER BECAUSE IF YOUR SHITLICKING BOSSES WANT TO WATCH ME DEBASE MYSELF THEN I AM GOING TO GIVE THEM A HORRORSHOW THEY WILL NEVER FORGET. A HUNDRED BUCKS TO CLEAN UP WILL BE CHEAP NEXT TO THE THERAPY THEY’LL NEED AFTER WATCHING ALL THE FUCKED-UP SHIT I WILL DO IN HERE. I’LL CALL SOLLUX FOR MORE IDEAS BECAUSE YOU KNOW AS WELL AS I DO THAT HE’S A FUCKING PERVERT AND WILL GIVE ME MATERIAL THAT WILL GUARANTEE AT LEASE ONE POOR FUCKING ASSHOLE WHO HAS TO WATCH MY INVOLUNTARY YET CONTRACTUALLY OBLIGATED SEX TAPE CAUSE TO POUR CAUSTIC CHEMICALS IN HIS EYES AND BLIND HIMSELF LIKE THAT ONE DEAD ASSHOLE DAVE AND ROSE ALWAYS TALK ABOUT. EDDY PUSSIE OR WHATEVER.”

When Karkat finished his rant, he listened closely for Gamzee’s next asinine stunt, or indeed, any sign of life. But for a long moment, Gamzee did nothing. Karkat grew bored and rapped on the door, and he heard a startled noise from the other side.

“KaY,” Gamzee said, maybe more vacant than usual, though Karkat couldn’t say for certain. “EnJoY yOuR mOtHeRfUcKiNg FlIcK ‘n ScHlIcK, mY rEd-BlOoDeD bUdDy.”

Karkat rolled his eyes, then turned his attention to the screen. As the title card faded at long last, Karkat plugged headphones into a jack on the wall; time to commit to tuning out the world. The music swelled, and, bucket between his legs, Karkat slipped a fingertip between the lips of his nook, letting out a little gasp.

Between the string quartet in his ears and the gentle stimulation between his legs, Karkat once more felt himself relax. There it was, that warmth rising in his core. He dipped a digit into his hole proper, cooing, and he felt his sheath starting to dilate under his palm.

On screen, the main character walked into a bedroom where his kismesis was crying. But instead of acting any kind of caliginous, he shoosh-papped the other troll - a total and violent pale shift! Then came the flushed interactions, the gentle, intimate sex. Gog, was it perverse, seeing these two vacillate from pitch to pale to red without hesitation, their words and bodies seemingly apathetic to traditional troll expectations.

Karkat’s bulge slipped free of its sheath, rubbing itself against his busy palm and squirming between his fingers. A chill ran up his spine. He pried it away from his nook with one hand and slipped two fingers into himself with the other, now working both of his parts. Carefully, he spread his legs wider, letting pleasure wash over him.

That little part of his thinkpan that wouldn’t shut up now chewed upon the perversity on screen. The quadrant-smearing couple’s auxiliatrix entered the room, immediately moving flushed towards both parties, making himself the center of the action rather than focusing on them. Inversion of purpose, conflicted interest, yet he negated his lovers’ caliginous movements with ease at one moment, reciprocated them the next, then let them happen. It was all so fluid, so natural-seeming when the main character’s lovers spread him out and stuck their entwined bulges into his waste chute. That dissonance between the natural and the perverse kept Karkat’s mind anchored in the moment, fixed on that which was present. He keened and purred as he stroked his bulge and added another finger yet.

Reaching for his tender shame globes sent a jolt through all of Karkat’s parts and a chill through the rest of his body. They were overripe peaches that threatened to split and cascade their heady nectar if touched with an indelicate hand. But Karkat was gentle with himself, easing his body towards its climax, lost in the film and in his sensations. His voice box clicked and purred, a quiet but satisfied noise.

And then, on the screen, the climax hit. All three trolls had their bulges entwined together, each fingering a nook or chute, and they came together, as one, into a single bucket. Three trolls, smearing not only their quadrants but the original purpose of a filial pail. Genetic slurry from three trolls, blended so thoroughly that no troll could tell whether it was pitch or flushed, or even that it was more than two trolls’ contribution. That triple-filled pail, overflowing onto the ground and the lovers’ feet, was one of the most perverse single objects Karkat had ever seen in a bucket flick. He couldn’t hold back.

With a resonant trill, Karkat came, squirting candy red into the cheap little bucket between his ankles, fluid running all over his hands. Relief dissolved the tension in his muscles. He sighed, slumping into his chair, eyes shut, as the pleasure and peace pervaded his petite body.

“THERE IT IS,” he whispered to himself. All he needed was a little stimulation, and there it was. It was, in a roundabout way, funny. Even jerking off had to be a federal fucking isue with him some nights. But now, at last, he was done. He let his eyes flutter open to catch the credits.

And then, he screamed. He fell out of the chair, ripping his headphone jack from the socket, scrambling into the corner with his pants around his ankles.  
“HiYa, FrIeNd,” said Gamzee, leering over the top of the stall door.

“NO! FUCK OFF! CEILING CLOWN IS NOT ALLOWED TO WATCH ME MASTURBATE! CEILING CLOWN NEEDS TO GO BACK TO HIS FUCKING DESK AND SELL A CHEAP BULGE SLEEVE TO A SEXUALLY FRUSTRATED SPOUSE!”

“I’m NoT iN tHe CeIlInG,” said Gamzee, expression still locked into that empty smile. “And watching a customer crank their magic pepper mill would be really illegal. YoU gOnNa WiPe ThAt Up?”

Gamzee pointed between Karkat’s legs. A little dribble of slurry ran down the metal of the chair, dripping onto the ground. Karkat, not even bothering to look, shrieked and shoved his way through the stall door. He stomped off toward the door, but somehow, Gamzee beat him there.

“I AM NEVER COMING BACK TO THIS FUCKING STORE AGAIN YOU PAINTED DOUCHE! IF I SEE YOU AGAIN THEN I SWEAR TO FUCK I WILL END YOU! WRAP PRODUCTION! TURN OFF THE CAMERAS AND SHIP THE FINISHED PRODUCT TO THE DISTRIBUTION COMPANY! NO MORE CUTS NEEDED! IT’S OVER! IF SOMEONE TRIES TO MAKE A SEQUEL I’VE GOT SPOILERS FOR YOU: IT STARTS WITH ME SCREAMING AT YOU UNTIL YOU DIE! AND MOST IMPORTANTLY THERE’S NOBODY WATCHING ME MASTURBATE! SO KINDLY GET THE HELL OUT OF MY WAY!”

Gamzee shrugged, pulling a folder full of papers from his pocket.

“ThAt’S cOoL, mY nInJa, BuT i FiGuReD yOu MiGhT wAnT tO gEt ThE dEeTz On OuR bY-mAiL rEnTaL pRoGrAm,” Gamzee said, holding the papers out. “FoR $30 a MoNtH, wE wIlL sHiP yOu WhAtEvEr ThE mOtHeRfUcK yOu WaNt, AnD yOu DoN’t GoTtA sEnD iT bAcK fOr A mOnTh. ThAt SoUnDs MoRe LiKe YoUr KiNdA tHiNg, RiGhT fRiEnD?”

Karkat snatched the folder out of Gamzee’s hands.

“WHAT A FUCKING MERCY. I CAN GET MY PORN AND NEVER SEE YOUR CREEPY FACE AGAIN. GREAT! TAKE MY FUCKING MONEY AND STAY OUT OF MY SEX LIFE!”

With that, folder in hand, Karkat stomped out of the shop, climbed into the Camaro, slammed the door shut, and peeled out of the parking lot, leaving an acrid stench and a patch of hot rubber.

Gamzee watched Karkat go, and once he was well out of sight, Gamzee pulled the door shut, embodying calm. In no rush, he walked back to the just-used stall with a spray bottle and paper towel, humming as he wiped it clean. There wasn’t much, certainly not enough to justify a cleaning fee. Besides, Karkat was a friend. No reason to fine him for a few minutes of work.

There was, of course, the matter of the bucket of genetic material Karkat had left behind, but the load gaper could handle the liquids, and the bucket would be just one of many to go to the materials reclamation plant that day. Nothing to worry about.

First, though, the merchandise: Gamzee ejected the disk and took it back to the counter. He produced a fine purple cloth from one pocket and gave it a quick polish before slipping it back into the binder with its pornographic siblings, filed just so. With a satisfied snort, Gamzee set the binder beneath the counter and turned his attention to a plaque on the wall. It was brass on wood, a simple thing. He rubbed away a thumbprint with his cloth over one panel. In black letters, it displayed these words:

**EMPLOYEE OF THE MONTH  
GAMZEE MAKARA**


End file.
